Becky gasps. “Miss Faith! It’s your cowboy!”
Before I can deny it, Jet nods seriously. “Yes, baby, that’s our cowboy.”
“Jet!”
“Sorry.Yourcowboy.”
Charlotte snorts.
Down in the arena, Dallas mounts his horse with slow, controlled confidence. His movements are precise. Focused. That quiet intensity rolls off him like heat.
My mouth goes dry.
This is not a normal reaction to someone getting on a horse.
Clay rides into position at the header box while Dallas waits in the heeler’s spot. The chute crew wrangles a steer into place.
I lean so far forward that Jet hooks a finger into my coat to keep me from falling into the arena.
The announcer booms, “Riders ready?”
Clay twirls his rope once.
Dallas adjusts his grip.
And then, the gate blasts open.
The steer bolts.
Clay is first off the mark, horse lunging forward in a blur. His rope spins high, slicing through sunlight.
Dallas follows, faster than I’ve ever seen him move. His horse surges beneath him with raw power, each hoof punching into the dirt.
My heart thrashes in my chest.
Clay throws, perfect catch around the horns.
The crowd goes wild.
But Dallas…
Dallas goes still for a beat. Waiting. Calculating.
Then he moves.
His rope swings low and drops around both hind legs, threading a needle at thirty miles per hour.
The whole arena erupts.
Jet is screaming. Becky is screaming. Charlotte grabs my arm.
And Dallas…
Dallas reins back, dust exploding around him, shoulders flexing, jaw tight, eyes bright with adrenaline.
He looks up into the stands and finds me instantly.
And smiles.
